Yours, In the Wrong Way • 01 (Rewrite)
⚠️To be honest, I’ve been thinking a lot about this story, and the more I think about it, the more I find myself drawn to this kind of unusual tone. So, I’m going to write it no matter what.
I hope you can understand the difference and not treat this as something to apply or accept in real-life thinking. Fiction and real life are not the same thing
I took inspiration from Rinko-Chan to Himosugara. But I want to change the content into something that’s truly my own, incorporating my life along with twisted, less-than-pure imagination, unlike the manga you’ve read before. So please make that distinction.
• Please read with care •
Age gap (y/n 16 years old - Jin 25 years old.) / Transactional relationship / financial dependence / morally grey characters / emotional exploitation / Forbidden Love / Underage
PS. I’ll probably add content warnings in future chapters since I’m not entirely sure yet but please be aware that this story is definitely morally questionable. I also don’t know how many chapters it will have, but I hope you enjoy it.
Seokjin was nothing more than a kept man, living off women day by day until one day, he was thrown away like something worthless. And then, he met you. A girl who offered him money in exchange for keeping him. He knew how disgusting it was. And still… he took it.
The scent of food reaches you before the door fully opens.
Warm broth. Soy sauce. Something simmering slowly enough that the smell settles into the air instead of rushing through it. The moment it hits you, your shoulders loosen beneath your coat before you even realize how tense they’ve been all day.
Light spills softly across the entryway. Not bright enough to sting your eyes. Just enough to make the apartment feel lived in.
You slip off your shoes near the door when his voice reaches you. “Welcome home.”
The words come easily from him. Too easily. As though this has always existed you return home at night, someone waiting for you inside, dinner still warm on the stove. Your fingers pause against the edge of your shoe. For a second, you just stand there listening to the quiet sound of something bubbling faintly in the kitchen.
Then you look up. Seokjin leans against the doorway with one sleeve pushed lazily to his elbow, dark hair slightly messy like he’s been running his hand through it while cooking. The kitchen light catches against the soft curve of his smile.
You try to smile back. It almost happens. Instead, a small breath leaves you first.
The nickname slips out naturally now. So naturally it frightens you sometimes. Because there was a time when you used to lie awake wishing for something exactly like this.
Not him specifically. Just warmth. A family. Someone asking whether you’ve eaten yet. Someone waiting for you to come home. Back then, those things always felt impossibly far away. Like the kind of happiness that belonged to other people. Other families. Not yours.
But now the smell of dinner fills your apartment almost every night. There’s always another voice here besides your own. Another pair of footsteps. Another person touching the things inside this space until it no longer feels cold and abandoned.
Even if the shape of it is wrong. Even if people would look at the two of you strangely. Even if somewhere deep down, you know none of this should have happened the way it did. You still want it. You want it badly enough that sometimes you pretend not to think too hard about why.
10 years earlier — January, 201X
Cold air catches against the inside of your throat the moment you step outside.
Your breath fogs faintly in front of you as you walk, dissolving almost immediately into the pale January morning. Cars slide past the intersection in neat rows, tires humming softly against damp pavement while the crosswalk signal continues its steady ticking rhythm overhead.
People move around you without slowing. Students in dark uniforms drift past in groups of two and three, their voices overlapping with sleepy complaints about exams and unfinished homework. Someone laughs too loudly near the convenience store. A bicycle cuts across the street just before the signal changes.
Everything feels ordinary. Painfully ordinary. Your feet follow the same route they always do, carrying you toward school almost automatically. Left at the pharmacy. Straight past the bus stop. Cross the intersection before the light changes.
You barely think about it anymore. Until something near the crosswalk catches your eye. A man lies stretched across the pavement. You slow without meaning to. Not hidden beside an alley. Not collapsed somewhere people might overlook him. Right in the middle of the pedestrian walkway. Anyone passing through the intersection would see him immediately.
And they do. A businessman steps around him without stopping. A woman glances down briefly before pulling her scarf tighter around her neck.
“Probably drunk,” someone mutters.
Nobody crouches beside him. Nobody checks whether he’s breathing. The flow of people simply bends around his body before closing again like water moving around a stone. Your steps slow further.
He hasn’t moved at all. His clothes look wrinkled. Dark hoodie. Faded jeans. One sleeve twisted awkwardly beneath him against the concrete. But his face. Your gaze catches there before you can stop it. Too clear. Too handsome for someone lying half-dead in the middle of the street.
The crosswalk signal begins flashing. You look away immediately and continue walking. Still, his face follows you for the rest of the day. It lingers at the edge of your thoughts during class. Between the sound of chalk against the board. Between pages turning. Between meaningless conversations drifting through the classroom while winter sunlight slowly crawls across your desk.
By the time school ends, the sky has already begun darkening. Cold wind slips between the buildings as you retrace the same route home, your bag heavy against your shoulder while office workers gradually replace the crowds of students around you.
You almost forget about him. Until you reach the intersection again. Your steps falter. He’s still there. Exactly where you left him. Something tightens unpleasantly in your chest. The city has continued moving for hours around him, yet somehow he remains untouched by it all. People still avoid him without stopping. Some stare openly now. Others pretend not to notice.
No one helps. Your fingers curl slowly inside your coat pocket. The cold feels sharper this evening. It creeps into your fingertips until they sting faintly beneath the fabric of your sleeves. You should leave. There’s no reason to get involved. This has nothing to do with you. But your feet stop anyway.
You stand there longer than you mean to. Cold air slides beneath your scarf, brushing against the back of your neck while people continue passing around you in restless waves. Somewhere behind you, the crossing signal changes again.
He still doesn’t move. Your gaze drifts back toward his face despite yourself. Too pale. His lashes rest dark against his skin, unmoving. Lips slightly parted. One arm bent awkwardly beneath him against the pavement like he simply collapsed there and never bothered getting back up.
A strange feeling settles low in your stomach. Not fear. Something quieter. “…Is he dead?”
The thought appears suddenly enough to make your chest tighten. Your fingers shift against the strap of your bag. Then, before you can think too hard about it, your feet carry you out of the crowd. Closer. The sound of traffic dulls slightly the nearer you get, like the rest of the intersection begins falling away around you. You stop beside him, uncertain now that you’re actually here.
Up close, he looks older than you first thought. Not old exactly. Just older than someone who should be lying unconscious in the street while everyone walks past pretending not to see.
You hesitate. Then crouch carefully beside him. “…Excuse me?”
No response. Your brows pull together. The cold from the pavement seeps faintly through your tights as you lower yourself a little further, close enough to notice how shallow his breathing is. There. Small. Uneven. Relief loosens through you so suddenly you almost feel embarrassed by it. Your hand lifts hesitantly before stopping midway.
You shouldn’t touch strangers. You know that. Still your fingers brush lightly against the sleeve near his shoulder. “Are you okay?” The moment the words leave you, his eyes open.
Dark eyes meet yours immediately. Not dazed. Not confused. Just watching you. Your hand jerks back on instinct, pulse stumbling hard against your ribs. For one awful second you think he might grab you. But he doesn’t move. He only keeps looking at you from where he’s lying on the pavement, gaze heavy with exhaustion. Up close, his face is even worse. Pretty enough to feel unfair.
“…Can you hear me?” you ask more quietly this time.
He blinks once. Slow. Like the movement costs effort. A car rushes past behind you, wind dragging briefly at the ends of your hair. The noise snaps something back into place inside your head.
Right. An ambulance. Your hand fumbles toward your coat pocket.
“No.” His voice barely reaches you.
Thin. Rough around the edges. You stop immediately. The city noise should swallow it whole, but somehow it lands clearly against your ears anyway. His throat moves slightly before he speaks again.
“No need.” The words come slower this time. “I don’t… have insurance for that.”
A small laugh escapes him afterward. Dry. Breathless. Like he’s joking about something mildly inconvenient instead of lying half-dead in the street. You stare at him. For a moment, you honestly can’t tell whether he’s serious.
“…Then get up,” you say finally, brows tightening. “You’re blocking the way.”
Another slow blink. Then the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Wow.” His voice scrapes faintly as he laughs again. “Kids these days are scary.”
Cold wind slips down your sleeves again, sharper now that you’ve stopped moving. Your fingertips ache faintly from it, but you stay crouched beside him anyway. You don’t answer. For a few seconds neither of you speaks.
Then he exhales softly and shifts for the first time. One elbow presses against the pavement as he tries pushing himself upright. The movement falters almost immediately. His arm shakes. You notice it before he can hide it.
“…Ah,” he murmurs, letting himself fall back against the concrete with another tired laugh. “Maybe not yet.” Your eyes narrow slightly. He tilts his head enough to look back at you.
“Could you help me out?” There’s something strange about the way he says it. Playful. Lazy. Like he’s only half-serious. “…Maybe five thousand won?”
You stare. He smiles wider. “Ten thousand’s okay too.”
A beat passes. Then another. People continue streaming around the two of you while the city carries on exactly the same as before, but somehow this tiny space near the crosswalk feels disconnected from everything else.
Your shoulders ease before you can stop them. Not because you trust him. He’s obviously strange. But strangely he doesn’t feel dangerous.
“…You’re weird,” you mutter before thinking better of it.
His grin brightens instantly. “It's a charm.”
The answer comes so quickly you almost regret speaking. Almost. Your hand slips into your school bag. Your wallet brushes against your fingertips immediately. You pause there for a second. You really shouldn’t encourage this. Every warning adults have ever given you about strangers presses faintly at the back of your mind now.
Still you glance at him again. His hair’s messy from lying against the pavement. His lips still look pale from the cold. Even now, he keeps smiling at you like this entire situation is somehow amusing.
“…What are you going to use it for?”
He hums softly, considering. Then shrugs. “I’m hungry.”
The answer lands so simply that something inside your chest twists before you can stop it.
The convenience store light spills across the pavement in a bright rectangle, cutting through the darkening street. You stop just outside the doors for a second. Warm air escapes every time someone walks in or out, carrying the smell of instant noodles and fried food with it before disappearing again into the cold evening air.
Beside you, Seokjin tilts his head up toward the sign.
“Ah…” A small smile pulls at his mouth. “Feels luxurious already.”
You glance at him. “…It’s just a convenience store.”
“Exactly.” His grin widens slightly as he looks down at you again. “That’s how bad my situation is.”
Before you can answer, the automatic doors slide open beside you.
Ding. Warmth rushes over your skin immediately. Your shoulders loosen on instinct as you step inside after him, the heat from the store fogging your glasses slightly for a moment before fading again.
The store isn’t crowded this late. A university student stands near the drink refrigerators comparing labels while an older man flips through magazines beside the counter. Somewhere near the microwaves, something continues rotating with a low mechanical hum.
Everything feels strangely normal. Too normal. As though bringing a stranger here after finding him collapsed in the street is something you do every day.
Seokjin wanders toward the ramyeon shelves without hesitation. His hands stay tucked loosely into the pockets of his hoodie while his eyes move across the rows with surprising focus. You linger near the entrance at first. Watching him. He doesn’t really move like someone embarrassed about his situation. Not exactly confident either.
Just comfortable. Like he’s long since stopped caring what people think of him.
“…This one’s good,” he murmurs suddenly, pulling a cup of ramyeon from the shelf before turning halfway toward you. “But this brand lies about spice level. It’s way hotter than it says.”
You blink. The casualness of it catches you off guard.
“If I can.” He drops the cup into the basket easily. “Cheap food teaches you survival skills.”
Another one follows. Then triangle kimbap. Then bottled water. He moves through the aisles slowly, occasionally picking something up only to put it back after glancing at the price. You notice it immediately. Every single time. Your grip tightens slightly around the basket handle in your hands.
“You can get more if you want.”
The words leave before you fully think about them. Seokjin looks over at you. Then down at the basket. Then back at you again. For a second, something unreadable passes through his expression before the easy smile returns.
“Careful,” he says lightly. “That’s how people go broke.” Still, he grabs another kimbap.
You end up sitting near the window. The plastic seat feels warm beneath you after the cold outside. Steam curls slowly upward from the cup of ramyeon resting between Seokjin’s hands while condensation gathers faintly along the bottled water beside him.
You sit across from him with your own food untouched. Watching. He really does look hungry. Not in the dramatic way people describe hunger. Just real. He eats quickly at first, lifting noodles into his mouth between quiet breaths of steam, shoulders relaxing a little more with every few bites.
Like his body’s only now realizing food is actually staying in front of him long enough to eat it.
“…Good,” he mutters under his breath. You almost don’t catch it. Then he glances up. His eyes brighten immediately. “This is amazing.”
The reaction comes out so sincerely that you stare before you can stop yourself. It’s only convenience store in ramyeon. You’ve eaten it alone at home countless times before. But the way he talks about it like it genuinely matters makes something inside your chest feel strange again.
“Thanks,” he says after another bite. His gaze drops back toward the noodles almost immediately afterward. “You basically saved my life.”
You shift awkwardly in your seat.“It’s not that serious.”
“It is to me.” The answer comes easily. Too easily. Steam brushes faintly against his face as he lowers his chopsticks again, eyes fixed on the cup in his hands.
For a few seconds neither of you speaks. Cars pass outside the window in streaks of white and red light. The heater hums softly overhead while the cashier tears open cigarette cartons near the register.
Then Seokjin speaks again. “You really shouldn’t talk to strangers, you know.”
He still isn’t looking at you. “Especially at night.” He twirls noodles loosely around his chopsticks before continuing. “The world’s dangerous.” The warning should sound serious.
But coming from him from the man currently eating the food you bought after finding him unconscious in the street it lands strangely. A small breath escapes you before you realize it’s almost a laugh.
“Mm.” He takes another bite.
Then finally glances up again. “It’s pretty late though.”
His voice muffles slightly around the noodles. “Won’t your family worry if you’re not home yet?”
Your fingers stop moving immediately. The question settles heavily between your ribs.
Your eyes drop toward the table before you can stop them. Your phone hasn’t rung once today. Or yesterday. Or the day before that. You can’t even remember the last real conversation you had inside your apartment.
Across from you, Seokjin watches quietly now. Not pushing. Just waiting. You force a small smile onto your face instead. “…Then why were you lying in the street?”
The subject changes too quickly. You know it. He knows it too. Still, he lets you.
“Ah.” He leans back slightly in his seat, chopsticks hovering loosely between his fingers. “Long story.”
You say nothing. So after a second, he sighs dramatically. “Basically…” His mouth twists into something halfway between amusement and embarrassment. “I got dumped.”
Your brows knit slightly. “Hm?”
“The woman paying my bills kicked me out.” He shrugs. “Terrible tragedy.”
You stare at him. He grins. “I’m a kept man.”
His laughter spills out immediately this time, brighter than before. “What?” he repeats innocently. “You know. Pretty face. No dignity. Very difficult career path.”
Your expression tightens despite yourself. Heat crawls awkwardly into your face. Of course you know what he means. You just didn’t expect him to say it so casually. Seokjin watches the realization cross your expression in real time. Amusement flickers in his eyes almost instantly.
“Ah.” He points his chopsticks toward you slightly.
“You understood that way too fast for someone your age.”
“I’m leaving.” You stand immediately. Too quickly. Your chair scrapes lightly against the floor as embarrassment rushes hot beneath your skin.
Seokjin laughs harder. “Hey—”
You grab your bag. “I shouldn’t have talked to you in the first place.”
“Fair enough,” he says easily, still laughing under his breath. “But at least let me walk you home.”
You freeze. Then slowly turn back toward him. “…Are you insane?”
“You literally just told me you’re basically a kept man.”
“Former kept man,” he corrects casually. “Currently employed by ramyeon.”
You stare at him harder. “And now you want my address too?”
That finally makes him pause. A beat passes. Then he nods slowly.
You exhale sharply through your nose. Unbelievable. For a moment, neither of you moves. The heater hums softly overhead while the convenience store door slides open somewhere behind you again.
Ding. Cold air spills briefly into the warmth before disappearing just as quickly. Seokjin watches you standing there with your bag clutched tightly against your side, shoulders stiff with lingering embarrassment. Then he snorts quietly to himself and reaches into the pocket of his hoodie.
“Alright.” His voice softens slightly. “You got me.”
You narrow your eyes. “What now?”
“Now…” He digs around for a second before pulling out nothing but loose receipts and a crumpled candy wrapper. “…I realize I don’t actually own anything.”
Despite yourself, your mouth twitches faintly. He notices immediately.
Your expression flattens again at once. “What?”
He glances around the store before pointing lightly toward the counter. “Can I borrow a pen?”
Your brows pull together. “A pen?” But in the end, you stop walking and open your bag.
This time you almost roll your eyes. Almost. He tears a small piece from one of the receipts in his pocket before leaning against the table to write. His handwriting comes out messy and uneven, letters slanting slightly sideways across the paper.
You watch his hand move. Long fingers. Small scar near the knuckle. The pen spins once unconsciously between his fingers before he finishes writing and slides the paper toward you across the table.
A phone number. You blink down at it.
“…Why are you giving me this?”
Seokjin caps the pen again. “In case you get kidnapped someday.”
You stare at him. He grins lazily. “You can call me for help.”
His tone lightens less this time. Just enough for something inside your chest to shift strangely again. Your fingers curl slowly around the small slip of paper. The ink’s still slightly wet near the edge where his hand brushed over it.
“I’m Seokjin, by the way,” he says after a second. “Kim Seokjin.”
His gaze lifts toward you again. “But everyone calls me Jin.”
The name settles softly into the space between you.
It fits him strangely well. Warm. Easy. Like the kind of name someone trustworthy should have. You tell him yours quietly in return. The moment the syllables leave your mouth, his expression changes almost imperceptibly. Not surprise. Not recognition. Just attention. Like he’s committing it somewhere carefully inside his head.
“That’s pretty,” he says. Heat rises faintly into your face again.
“You say things too easily.”
“That’s because they’re true.” Your grip tightens around the paper before you shove it quickly into your bag. Seokjin watches the movement without comment. Then he stands. The chair scrapes softly against the floor.
“Well.” He stretches one arm over his head with a quiet groan. “I should probably start figuring out where to sleep before the subway closes.”
Something unpleasant twists low in your stomach immediately. You hate how quickly it happens. How naturally. Your eyes follow him automatically as he throws away the empty ramyeon cup and adjusts the sleeves of his hoodie.
This should be the end of it. You know that. A strange man you met once. Nothing more. But the thought of going home suddenly feels unbearable again. The silence waiting there. The dark apartment. The untouched food. Your fingers press tighter against the strap of your bag.
“Anyway,” Seokjin says lightly, turning back toward you near the door, “next time, don’t go trusting random men so easily, okay”
Your chest tightens. The automatic doors slide open behind him. Cold wind slips through immediately, brushing against his dark hair while city lights glow faintly beyond the glass. He smiles. Easy. Careless. Like leaving really doesn’t matter to him at all.
“Good night, kid.” Then he steps outside.
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Because suddenly you don’t know how to explain this feeling clawing inside your chest. You just don’t want to go home yet. The realization settles slowly. Heavy. Embarrassing. You stare down at the pavement instead.
“I…” Your fingers tighten against your sleeves. “Are you still going to be around here?”
A beat passes. Seokjin watches you quietly now. “‘Around here’ meaning?”
His head tilts slightly. “Probably for a little while.”
Relief loosens through your chest so suddenly it almost makes you dizzy. You hate that he notices. His eyes soften faintly. Then he steps a little closer, lowering his voice just enough that it feels separate from the rest of the street noise around you.
The question lands too gently. You look away immediately. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s wrong. The words tangle somewhere behind your ribs until neither of them comes out properly.
Instead you hear yourself ask “…Are you free?”
Seokjin blinks once. Then laughs quietly beneath his breath.
“That sounds dangerous.” Heat crawls instantly into your face.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He still looks amused though. One hand slips loosely into the pocket of his hoodie while he watches you struggle for words. “You called me back out here for something, didn’t you?”
Your throat tightens. You could still stop now. Go home. Pretend none of this happened. But the thought of walking back into that dark apartment alone makes your chest feel hollow all over again.
“…If it’s just money… that’s enough, right?”
The confession comes out so softly you almost think the wind might carry it away before he hears. But Seokjin hears everything.“...As long as I can support you, that’s enough, right?”
His expression stills slightly. Not dramatic. Not shocked. Just quieter now than before.
The silence stretches between you. “Please…” you whisper.
The city noise rushes around both of you while the silence between you stretches thin.
The answer comes immediately afterward. Simple. Certain. No hesitation at all. Your breath catches faintly. Seokjin smiles again, softer this time. “Lead the way.”
You regret it almost immediately. Not because he says yes. Because he says yes too easily.
The moment the words leave his mouth, your heartbeat stumbles hard enough that you suddenly become aware of everything at once the cold air pressing against your skin, the sound of passing cars, the fact that you’re standing outside at night with a man you met only hours ago.
You tighten your grip around your bag strap. Seokjin notices. Of course he does. His eyes drift briefly toward your hand before lifting back to your face again.
“You look like you’re reconsidering your entire life.”
Heat rises instantly into your cheeks. “I’m not.”
“Hm.” He clearly doesn’t believe you.
Still, he doesn’t push. He just falls into step beside you as you start walking, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his hoodie while the two of you move down the sidewalk together. The city feels different now. Quieter.
Not because the streets have emptied cars still pass, conversations still drift from nearby restaurants, neon signs still glow against the dark but because suddenly you’re aware of another set of footsteps beside your own.
His pace naturally adjusts to yours without comment. Not too fast. Not too slow. Just enough that you never have to hurry. You stare straight ahead. Trying not to think too hard about what you’re doing. Beside you, Seokjin glances upward briefly toward the apartment buildings lining the street.
“So,” he says after a while, voice easy again, “how old are you?”
Your shoulders tense immediately. “…High school.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
You frown slightly. “Why does it matter?”
“Because if you say fourteen I’m turning around.” You look at him properly for the first time since leaving the convenience store.
“…I’m Sixteen.” Visible relief crosses his face.
“What difference does that make?”
“A huge one,” he mutters.
The answer only confuses you more. Cold wind brushes through the street again, catching strands of your hair across your cheek. Before you can move them away, Seokjin speaks again.
“You live with your parents?” Your steps falter slightly.
Just enough for him to notice. “My mother,” you answer after a second.
The words leave automatically. Flat. Practiced. You’ve repeated them enough times that they barely feel personal anymore. Still, silence settles briefly beside you afterward. Not awkward exactly. Just careful. Seokjin doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t offer sympathy. For some reason, you’re grateful for that.
“Then your mom’s gonna kill me when she sees me in her apartment,” he says instead.
You stare ahead at the glowing crosswalk signal. “She’s not home.” The answer comes too quickly.
His gaze shifts toward you again. “…Working late?”
You don’t answer immediately. Because you honestly don’t know. Where your mother works. When she sleeps. What she does all day. Sometimes it feels like she exists only through the money left behind on the table and the faint smell of perfume lingering in the apartment after she’s already gone again.
“…She’s busy,” you say quietly.
Seokjin hums once beneath his breath. Nothing else. But somehow the silence afterward feels heavier than before. The closer you get to your apartment, the tighter something twists inside your chest. Maybe because reality’s finally catching up. You’re really bringing him home. A man you met lying in the street. Your steps slow slightly near the building entrance.
The old security light flickers weakly overhead while you fumble for your keys inside your bag. Beside you, Seokjin tilts his head back to look up at the apartment complex.
“You live here?” You nod.
“It’s nice.” You almost laugh at that. The building’s old. Half the hallway lights barely work. The elevator gets stuck between floors at least once a month.
Still compared to sleeping outside, maybe it does look nice. The lobby smells faintly like dust and laundry detergent. Your footsteps echo softly against the tiled floor as you walk toward the elevator together. Seokjin lingers half a step behind you now, gaze moving quietly around the space without being obvious about it.
The elevator arrives with a tired mechanical ding. Inside, the mirrored walls make everything feel smaller somehow. Closer. You suddenly become painfully aware of him standing beside you. Too tall. Too warm. The sleeve of his hoodie brushes lightly against your coat when the elevator jerks upward.
Neither of you moves away immediately. Your pulse jumps strangely beneath your skin. The silence stretches. Then “You’re nervous.”
You look up too quickly. “I’m not.”
“You keep squeezing your bag strap.” Your fingers loosen instantly.
Seokjin smiles to himself. “You really shouldn’t trust people this easily.”
The elevator light flickers faintly overhead. Your reflection stares back at you from the metal walls, school uniform slightly wrinkled, hair messy from the wind, eyes still faintly swollen from crying earlier.
“…You keep saying that,” you mutter quietly.
“Because it’s true.” His voice softens slightly.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
The elevator doors open before you can answer. You step out first. The hallway feels colder than downstairs. Dim yellow light spills weakly across the floor while your footsteps slow near the end of the corridor.
Your hand pauses against the keypad. Suddenly your chest feels tight again. Because once this door opens, he’ll see it. The silence. The emptiness. Everything you’ve spent so long pretending doesn’t bother you. Beside you, Seokjin watches quietly.
Not rushing you. Your fingers move slowly against the keypad. The lock clicks. Then the door opens. Darkness waits on the other side. Cold. Still. The apartment smells faintly stale, like air that hasn’t moved properly all day.
Your throat tightens instantly. Beside you, Seokjin says nothing. You step inside first and reach automatically for the light switch near the wall. Soft yellow light floods the apartment. The living room comes into view piece by piece.
Shoes left near the sofa. A blanket half-folded over the armrest. Empty silence stretching through every room. No voices. No television. No sign anyone else has been here. Seokjin remains near the doorway for a second longer than expected.
Then quietly “…Ah.” That’s all he says. But somehow it feels like he understands immediately.
You suddenly hate the apartment all over again. Not because anything changed. Because now someone else can see it too. The silence. The emptiness. The way the air inside never feels warm no matter how high the heating’s set. You slip your shoes off near the entrance without looking at him.
“…You can come in.” Your voice comes out quieter than before. Behind you, Seokjin steps inside slowly. The door clicks shut. For a moment neither of you moves.
His gaze drifts carefully across the apartment not obvious enough to feel rude, but enough that you become painfully aware of every little thing sitting out of place. A cup left near the sink. School papers scattered beside the couch. A jacket thrown carelessly across one of the dining chairs because no one ever tells you to clean it up.
You move first. Quickly. Crossing the living room before he can keep looking too long.
“I’ll get you something to wear,” you mumble.
“You can’t sleep in those clothes.”
The words leave naturally enough that you only realize afterward what you actually said. Sleep. Here. With you. Heat creeps faintly into your face. But Seokjin only watches you quietly for a second before smiling again.
“Ah.” He scratches lightly at the back of his neck. “Right.”
You disappear into your mother’s room before the silence can stretch further. The air inside smells faintly like perfume. Expensive. Sharp. Nothing here really feels touched except the closet. You kneel beside the drawers, pulling them open one after another until you find something plain enough an oversized shirt, loose sweatpants.
Your fingers hesitate briefly against the fabric. For some reason, guilt twists strangely in your chest. Like you’re letting someone trespass somewhere forbidden. Still, you gather the clothes and leave the room again.
Seokjin stands near the kitchen now. Not snooping. Just looking. His gaze shifts toward you immediately when you step back out.
“I found something.” You hold the clothes out toward him. For half a second, you wonder if he’ll laugh. Or complain about wearing women’s clothes. Instead, he takes them easily.
“Wow,” he says lightly, holding up the oversized shirt against himself. “I’ll look pretty.”
You stare at him. “…That’s your concern?”
A small breath almost escapes you again. Not quite a laugh. But close. Seokjin notices anyway. His smile softens faintly around the edges.
You point toward the bathroom near the hallway. “There.”
“Got it.” He disappears inside without another word.
The door clicks shut behind him. And suddenly the apartment feels quiet again. Not empty. Just quiet. You stand there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the closed bathroom door while warm water pipes groan faintly somewhere inside the walls.
Then your body finally starts moving again. You pull the spare mattress from the closet. Blankets next. Pillow. Your hands work automatically, spreading everything carefully across the floor beside your bed.
The room feels smaller tonight. Crowded in a strange unfamiliar way. You smooth the blanket flat twice before realizing you’re doing it too hard. Your chest feels tight again.
Every warning you’ve ever heard circles endlessly inside your head now. Don’t trust strangers. Don’t bring men home. Don’t let people take advantage of you. But when you picture him leaving that terrible hollow feeling comes rushing back immediately.
The bathroom door opens. You look up too fast. Seokjin steps out while pushing damp hair back from his forehead with one hand. The oversized shirt hangs loosely from his frame, sleeves falling past his wrists slightly while the sweatpants sit low against his hips from being too small.
For a second, you just stare. He looks comfortable. Like he belongs here already. The realization unsettles you immediately.
“…What?” he asks after noticing your expression.
“Hm.” His gaze drifts past you toward the mattress laid neatly on the floor. Then toward your bed. Then back toward you. “You set all this up already?”
You nod quickly. “There’s extra blankets too.”
Seokjin walks further into the room slowly, eyes lingering over the mattress again before he suddenly drops backward onto your bed instead. The mattress dips sharply beneath his weight. A long satisfied groan leaves him almost immediately.
He stretches lazily across the blankets like an oversized cat discovering sunlight for the first time.
“This is nice.” You stare at him in disbelief.
“…Why are you on my bed?”
“Hm?” He blinks up at you innocently. For a second he genuinely looks confused. Then realization crosses his face. “Ah.” One hand rubs absentmindedly against the back of his neck. “Habit.”
“What kind of habit makes you climb into other people’s beds?!” His laughter spills out instantly.
“Usually the kind where people invite me over voluntarily.” Heat rushes violently into your face.
“That’s not what this is!”
“I know, I know.” He’s still laughing though.
That only makes your embarrassment worse. “Move!”
Still grinning beneath his breath, Seokjin pushes himself upright. But instead of standing immediately, he pauses near the edge of the mattress, gaze lifting toward you again. Something quieter settles there this time
Not teasing. Not playful. Just watching.
“…You really shouldn’t have let me stay.”
The room stills. Your fingers tighten slowly against the sleeves of your uniform. You know that. Of course you know that. But standing here now, with another person inside your room for the first time in what feels like forever, the idea of sending him away suddenly feels impossible.
Your throat tightens. “…Do you want to leave?” The question comes out smaller than intended.
Seokjin’s eyes stay on you. For a moment he doesn’t answer. Then “No.”
Simple. Honest. Something inside your chest loosens painfully at the sound of it. He finally stands after that, stepping away from your bed and toward the mattress on the floor instead.
“See?” he says lightly, trying to ease the heaviness gathering in the room. “I can behave.”
You lower yourself carefully onto the edge of your bed while he settles onto the mattress beside it. The light stays on for a little while longer. Neither of you speaks much.
The apartment creaks quietly around you, the heater clicking faintly inside the walls, distant footsteps passing somewhere above your ceiling. You change into pajamas in the bathroom eventually. When you return, Seokjin’s lying on his back staring up at the ceiling with one arm tucked behind his head.
His eyes drift toward you the moment you walk back in. “There you are.”
The words land strangely softly. You climb into bed without answering. Blankets pull up to your chin. The lamp beside your bed casts dim golden light across the room, softening everything around the edges. For a while, silence settles comfortably between you.
Not heavy anymore. Just there. Then quietly “…Goodnight,” you whisper.
Seokjin turns his head slightly toward your voice. A small smile touches the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, kid.”
You reach toward the lamp. The room falls dark. For a long time afterward, you stay awake listening to another person breathing inside your room. And somewhere beneath the exhaustion pulling slowly at your body for the first time in years, you don’t feel alone.
Sometime during the night, you wake up. Not fully. Just enough for awareness to drift slowly back into your body. The room is dark except for the faint blue glow leaking through the curtains from outside. For a moment, you lie still beneath the blankets, disoriented, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness while the heater hums quietly inside the walls.
Then you hear it. Movement. Small. Soft. Fabric shifting against the floor. Your eyes open immediately. The room comes slowly into focus around you. The outline of your desk near the window. School bag hanging from the chair. Shadows stretching faintly across the ceiling.
And beside your bed is empty space.
Your heartbeat stumbles hard enough to drag the rest of your sleep away instantly. The mattress on the floor is empty. Blankets pushed aside. Cold. You push yourself upright too quickly, pulse suddenly loud in your ears. For one horrible second, panic flashes through you.
The apartment feels different again all at once too quiet, too still, too familiar in the worst way. Then another sound reaches you. A cabinet closing softly somewhere outside your room. You freeze.
Light spills faintly beneath the bedroom door. Your chest tightens. Slowly, you push the blankets aside and step out of bed. The floor feels cold beneath your feet as you move toward the hallway, careful not to make noise.
The apartment stays dim except for the kitchen light. You stop near the doorway. Seokjin stands barefoot in front of the open refrigerator. Your refrigerator. One hand rests against the door while he stares blankly inside like he’s trying to solve some deeply personal problem hidden behind the milk cartons. Relief crashes through you so suddenly your knees almost weaken. At the same time annoyance follows immediately after.
“What are you doing?” Seokjin startles violently.
The refrigerator door nearly slams shut against his hand as he turns toward you too fast, eyes widening slightly in the dim light. “…Jesus,” he breathes out. “You scared me.”
“You’re in my kitchen at three in the morning.”
“I was hungry.” The answer comes without hesitation.
You stare at him. His hair sticks out messily in every direction from sleep, oversized sleeves hanging over part of his hands while the refrigerator light spills pale gold across his face. He honestly looks more offended than guilty. Your gaze drops toward the fridge.
“…There’s nothing in there.”
“I noticed.” He sounds deeply betrayed by this discovery.
A small silence follows. Then without warning your mouth twitches. Seokjin catches it instantly.
You look away immediately. “What?”
His grin spreads slowly. “You think I’m pathetic.”
Instead of looking embarrassed, he laughs quietly beneath his breath and leans one shoulder against the refrigerator door. “Fair.”
You step further into the kitchen this time, rubbing absently at your eyes while exhaustion still clings heavily to your body. The clock on the microwave reads 3:17 AM.
“…Why are you awake anyway?” you mutter.
Seokjin shrugs lightly. “Not used to sleeping somewhere warm.”
The answer lands strangely. Simple. Casual. But something inside your chest tightens around it before you can stop yourself. Your gaze shifts toward him again. This time you notice it properly.
The way he keeps standing near the refrigerator without actually touching much inside it. Like a habit's stopping him. Like he’s waiting for permission even now.
“…There’s ramyeon in the cabinet,” you say quietly.
His eyes brighten immediately. “Really?”
You point sleepily toward the cupboard above the microwave. Seokjin opens it. Three cups of ramyeon sit stacked near the back. The same brand from earlier.
“Wow.” Genuine delight spreads across his face again. “You really are my benefactor.”
Heat crawls faintly into your cheeks at the word. Before you can answer, he’s already reaching for a pot. You blink. “…What are you doing?”
“At three in the morning?”
“You say that like hunger follows business hours.”
The stove clicks softly beneath his hand. Blue flame flickers to life. You lean silently against the kitchen entrance while he moves around the small space with sleepy familiarity, filling the pot with water before setting it over the heat.
The apartment sounds different like this. Not silent. Occupied. Water running softly. Cabinet doors opening and closing. The faint rustle of instant noodle packaging tearing apart beneath his hands. Small noises. Domestic noises. Your chest aches strangely at them. Seokjin glances over his shoulder suddenly. “You want one too?”
You hesitate. Then nod once. “…Okay.”
Steam gradually fogs the kitchen windows while the noodles cook. You sit at the table this time, knees pulled loosely against your chest while exhaustion drags at your eyelids again. Across from the stove, Seokjin hums quietly beneath his breath while stirring the noodles with chopsticks.
“You cook like someone’s mother,” you mumble sleepily.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
Despite yourself, another small laugh slips out this time. Real enough that even you notice it immediately afterward. Seokjin turns toward you at once. His expression stills slightly. Not because of the laugh itself.
Because of the sound. Like he’s realizing it’s the first genuine one he’s heard from you all day. The realization makes something quieter settle across his face.
You look away first. The ramyeon ends up tasting better at three in the morning. Maybe because you’re half asleep. Maybe because someone else made it for you again.
Warm steam brushes against your face as you lift the noodles slowly toward your mouth. Across from you, Seokjin eats directly from the pot without shame, sleeves falling over his wrists while he talks between bites.
“You know,” he says eventually, “if your mom comes home right now, I’m definitely dying first.”
Your chopsticks pause slightly. “She won’t.”
The certainty in your voice makes the kitchen fall quiet again. Seokjin watches you carefully over the rim of the pot. “…You really believe that.”
You lower your gaze toward the broth. The surface trembles faintly beneath the kitchen light. “…She’s never home.” The words come easier this late at night. Maybe because exhaustion’s worn you down too much to pretend properly anymore.
“She leaves money.” Your grip tightens slightly around the chopsticks. “That’s all.”
Silence settles softly between you afterward. Not uncomfortable. Just still. Then Seokjin reaches across the table suddenly and taps your forehead lightly with the chopsticks. You blink up at him in surprise.
“The one that says you’ve already decided nobody’s staying.”
His voice softens slightly near the end. You stare at him.
The warmth from the noodles curls faintly between both of you while the kitchen light hums quietly overhead. And for some reason sitting here at three in the morning with a stranger eating instant noodles across from you feels more like family than anything else you can remember.
Morning arrives quietly. You wake to the sound of movement in the kitchen. For a few seconds, you stay still beneath the blankets, eyes barely open while sleep clings heavily to your body. Pale winter sunlight leaks through the curtains in thin strips, stretching dimly across your desk and the edge of your floor.
The apartment smells different. Warm. Toasted bread. Something frying lightly in oil. Your brows pull together slowly. Then yesterday crashes back into you all at once.
Seokjin. The convenience store. The apartment. Your gaze drops immediately toward the floor beside your bed. The mattress is empty again. Blankets tossed carelessly aside. A strange pulse of panic hits your chest before the sound of cabinet doors opening reaches you from the kitchen.
Right. He’s still here. Relief settles through your body so naturally it almost frightens you.
You push yourself upright slowly, rubbing at your eyes before climbing out of bed. Your pajamas hang loosely from sleep-warmed skin while cold air brushes faintly against your legs the moment you open your bedroom door.
The kitchen light’s already on.
Seokjin stands at the stove wearing your mother’s oversized shirt with the sleeves shoved halfway up his arms now. One hand flips something in a frying pan while the other holds chopsticks between his fingers. Steam curls lazily through the air around him. For a second, you just stand there watching.
The sight feels wrong. Not bad. Just unfamiliar enough that your chest tightens around it. Someone else inside your kitchen this early in the morning. Someone humming softly while making breakfast like he’s done it here a hundred times before.
Seokjin glances over at the sound of your footsteps. His face brightens immediately.
“Oh.” He points the chopsticks toward you. “You’re alive.”
You blink slowly. “…What are you doing?”
“Good.” He nods approvingly. “Your observational skills are improving.”
You stare at him harder. Seokjin laughs quietly under his breath before turning back toward the stove.
“You had eggs.” Genuine disbelief colors his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you had actual food hidden in here?”
You move further into the kitchen slowly. The table’s already half-set. Two plates. Toast. Eggs slightly crisp around the edges. Even a cup of juice poured beside one of the chairs.
Your chest tightens strangely again. “…You made breakfast?”
Seokjin glances back over his shoulder. “Well, yeah.” His expression softens slightly when he looks at you properly this time. “You looked like you hadn’t eaten anything decent in weeks.”
Heat crawls faintly into your face. You hate how accurate that feels.
“That explains a lot actually.”
You pull out one of the chairs quietly and sit. The apartment feels warmer this morning. Not physically. Different. Occupied. Alive. Seokjin finishes plating the eggs before setting one down in front of you with exaggerated care.
“There.” He gestures proudly at the plate. “Five-star breakfast.”
You look down at it. It’s simple. Just toast and eggs. But steam still rises faintly from the food, carrying warmth into the quiet apartment while sunlight slowly spills further across the table. Something twists painfully inside your chest.
Because no one’s ever done this for you before. Not really. Seokjin notices the way your expression changes immediately. His voice softens.
“…Eat before it gets cold.”
You nod once. Quietly. Then pick up your fork. The eggs are warm. Soft in the middle. Better than they should be. You lower your gaze quickly before he notices your eyes stinging again. Across from you, Seokjin pretends not to see. Instead he drops dramatically into the chair opposite yours and starts eating with complete satisfaction.
“Mm.” He points at the food with his fork. “See? You adopted the right homeless man.”
A startled laugh slips out before you can stop it. Real. Short. But enough. Seokjin stills for a fraction of a second. Then his grin spreads slowly across his face.
“You should.” He takes another bite casually. “Education’s important.”
You glare at him weakly over your juice. He only grins wider. For a little while, the apartment fills with small sounds instead. Forks against plates. The heater clicking softly inside the walls. Traffic drifting faintly through the windows from outside.
Ordinary sounds. Domestic sounds. The kind you’ve spent years pretending you didn’t want.
“…What are you going to do today?” you ask eventually.
Seokjin leans back slightly in his chair.
“So am I.” Your brows knit faintly. Because he says things like jokes even when they probably aren’t. Seokjin watches you for another second before sighing dramatically.
“I’ll clean up a little.” He gestures vaguely around the apartment. “Maybe figure out how to become a productive member of society.”
“Ouch.” Despite the teasing, something thoughtful flickers briefly through his expression before disappearing again. Then he glances toward the clock near the microwave.
“Oh.” He points at it suddenly. “Aren’t you late?”
You freeze. Your eyes snap toward the time. 8:12.
Your chair nearly crashes backward. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”
Seokjin startles. “I thought you were resting!”
You’re already rushing toward your room.
Panic floods through your body immediately as you grab your uniform from the chair beside your desk. Behind you, Seokjin’s laughter follows openly now, warm and unrestrained through the apartment.
“You’re laughing?!” you yell from your room.
“That doesn’t erase your crimes!”
His laughter only gets louder. The sound chases you through the apartment while you hurry to get ready, heartbeat racing from more than just being late.
Because somehow without noticing when it happened this place no longer feels empty anymore.
The cold morning air hits your face the moment you leave the apartment. You barely notice it.
Your shoes strike quickly against the stairs while Seokjin’s laughter still echoes faintly in your ears, following you all the way down the building like something warm refusing to let go. By the time you reach the street, your breathing’s uneven. Partly from rushing. Partly from something else. The city’s already fully awake now.
Students crowd the sidewalks in dark uniforms while office workers stream past with coffee cups clenched between gloved hands. Traffic crawls through the intersection ahead in long impatient lines, horns occasionally breaking through the steady noise of the morning.
Everything looks exactly the same as yesterday. But something feels off. You realize what it is halfway through crossing the street. You keep thinking about home. Not your apartment.
The word settles strangely inside your chest. Your grip tightens slightly around your bag strap. Last night’s warmth still clings faintly to your skin, the smell of food, another person moving through the kitchen, someone saying goodnight before the lights went out.
You hate how badly you already want to go back. School feels longer than usual. The classroom noise presses against your head from the moment you sit down. Chairs scraping. Teachers talking. Pens clicking repeatedly somewhere behind you.
Everything blends together into meaningless sound. Your notebook stays open in front of you while your gaze drifts absently toward the window for what feels like the hundredth time. Snow begins falling sometime during second period.
Light at first. Tiny flakes catching briefly against the gray sky before disappearing.
“Ah, seriously?” someone near the back groans. “It’s gonna be freezing tonight.”
Laughter follows. Another student starts complaining about having to walk home. Your pencil stills briefly against the page. Tonight. The thought arrives instantly afterward.
Will he still be there when you get home?
Your chest tightens before you can stop it. Of course he will. Probably. You lower your eyes quickly toward your notebook again, pretending to focus when the girl beside you suddenly leans closer.
“You seem distracted today.”
“A little.” She studies your face briefly. “Did you sleep?”
Not really. Your body feels heavy from waking up in the middle of the night and oversleeping afterward, but exhaustion sits strangely beneath something lighter.
Something restless. “I’m fine,” you say automatically.
The answer leaves too quickly. Practiced. Your classmate watches you for another second like she doesn’t quite believe it. Then “Are you coming to the parent meeting next week?”
Your stomach drops immediately. The warmth lingering from this morning vanishes almost instantly. Around the classroom, conversation continues casually between students.
“My mom already said she’s coming.”
“My dad’s taking off work early.”
You stare down at your notebook without really seeing it. Parent meeting. Right. You forgot. Your mother still hasn’t answered a single call. The tightness returns to your chest slowly this time, heavier than before. You already know how this will go.
Teachers pretending not to notice. Students glancing toward the empty seat beside you. That awful feeling of being watched differently afterward.
“…What about your mom?” your classmate asks carefully.
You force your expression still before looking up again.
“She’ll come.” The lie comes easily now. Too easily. Your classmate smiles faintly.
“That’s good.” You nod once.
Then lower your gaze before she can see anything else on your face. The rest of the day drags painfully. By the time classes finally end, the snow has thickened outside. White gathers faintly along the edges of sidewalks and parked cars while cold evening light settles over the city far too early.
Students spill from the school entrance in loud clusters. You barely notice them. Your feet move automatically down familiar streets, but your pace quickens little by little without you meaning to.
The convenience store comes into view first. Then the intersection. Then your apartment building further down the road. Your pulse starts beating faster.
The thought appears suddenly enough to make your stomach twist.
You barely know each other. Maybe he took the money and disappeared while you were gone. Maybe the apartment’s empty again already. Your steps speed up. Cold air burns faintly inside your lungs as you hurry through the lobby and into the elevator, fingers tightening repeatedly against your sleeves while the old machinery groans upward floor by floor.
Too slow. Everything feels too slow. The elevator doors finally open. You almost run down the hallway.
Your hand fumbles against the keypad once before finally entering the code correctly. The lock clicks. You open the door too fast. Warmth hits you immediately. Not just heat. The smell. Food. Something simmering softly. Your breath catches.
The apartment lights are already on. And from somewhere deeper inside “…You’re late.”
Seokjin’s voice drifts easily through the apartment. Followed by the faint sound of something bubbling over. “Ah—shit.”
You freeze in the doorway. Relief crashes through your body so hard your knees almost weaken beneath you. He’s here. The realization floods through every part of you at once, leaving your chest painfully light. Before you can stop yourself, you move quickly toward the kitchen.
Seokjin stands at the stove with one sleeve pushed up again, frowning down at a pot threatening to boil over while steam fills the air around him.
Snow melts slowly from your hair onto the floor near the entrance. He glances up briefly at the sound of your footsteps. Then blinks. “…Did you run home?”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out immediately. Because suddenly your eyes sting again. Seokjin notices at once. The teasing expression slips from his face almost instantly.
“…Hey.” His voice softens. “What’s wrong?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when relief’s still crashing through you in ugly overwhelming waves you don’t know how to explain. For one horrible moment during the walk home, you really thought he might be gone. And realizing how badly that terrified you terrifies you even more.
Seokjin watches your expression carefully. Then his gaze shifts downward slightly. To the melted snow near your shoes. To your uneven breathing. To the way your fingers tremble faintly against your bag strap. Understanding settles slowly across his face. Quiet. Complete.
“…Ah,” he murmurs softly. The sound barely reaches you over the bubbling pot. But somehow it feels like he sees everything anyway.
For a moment, neither of you moves. Steam curls thickly through the kitchen while the pot continues bubbling loudly on the stove, almost forgotten now.
Seokjin’s gaze stays fixed on you. Too steady. Too aware. Your throat tightens immediately beneath it. You hate this. Hate how transparent you suddenly feel. Like everything inside you spilled open the second you walked through the door.
It isn’t a question. Your fingers tighten harder around your bag strap. The silence answers for you anyway. Seokjin watches the realization settle deeper across your face, and something unreadable flickers briefly behind his expression before disappearing again beneath that same easy warmth.
Then very deliberately he reaches over and turns the stove off first. Only after that does he step toward you. Slowly. Not enough to scare you. Not enough to let you retreat into yourself either.
Snowflakes still cling faintly to the shoulders of your coat, already melting into dark patches beneath the apartment lights. Seokjin stops directly in front of you this time close enough that warmth from the kitchen still clings to his skin.
“You really ran all the way here?” he asks quietly.
You lower your gaze immediately. “…No.”
“Liar.” The word lands lightly. Almost gentle.
Your chest tightens worse. Because he sounds amused. Not angry. Not burdened. Amused that someone wanted him there badly enough to panic. You hate the heat crawling into your face.
“…I just thought—” Your voice catches. You stop. Seokjin waits. Patient again. Always patient when you’re about to say something important.
“…You could’ve taken the money,” you finish quietly instead.
The moment the excuse leaves your mouth, you know he doesn’t believe it. His expression says so immediately. “…Mm.” A soft hum leaves him while he studies you.
“If I wanted the money, I could’ve taken it while you were sleeping.”
Your breath stills briefly. Because he says it so casually. Not threatening. Just factual. Matter-of-fact enough that it sends a strange chill beneath your skin anyway. Seokjin notices the reaction instantly. Then sighs dramatically.
“Wow.” He rubs lightly at the back of his neck. “That sounded way creepier out loud.”
Despite yourself, a weak laugh escapes you. Small. But enough. His smile returns immediately afterward softer this time. “There you are.”
Your eyes drop again. That phrase. Again. Like he keeps waiting for something hidden underneath all the sadness. The apartment falls quiet for another second before Seokjin reaches toward you suddenly. You flinch instinctively. But instead of touching you he brushes melted snow lightly from your sleeve.
The warmth of his fingers barely lasts a second through the fabric. Still, your heartbeat stumbles painfully hard afterward. Seokjin steps back before you can react properly.
“Go change first,” he says easily, turning back toward the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost done.”
Dinner. The word settles deep inside your chest. You stand there a moment longer watching his back while he moves around the stove again like he belongs there naturally now. Like he was always supposed to exist inside this apartment. Something dangerous twists softly inside you. Not fear. Worse. Attachment. You change clothes quietly inside your room. But even after pulling on warmer sleeves, your heartbeat still refuses to settle completely.
Because the apartment sounds different now.
Steam is still hanging in the kitchen when you finish eating. It clings faintly to the air, warm and thick, even though the bowl in front of you is already half empty.
Seokjin eats like he doesn’t think about it. One hand holding the spoon, the other resting loosely on the table edge, shoulders slightly hunched in a way that makes the small kitchen feel even smaller.
You watch him without meaning to. It feels… different from yesterday. Less strange. More real. When you finish first, you sit still for a moment, hands wrapped loosely around the warm bowl.
You don’t want to move yet. Not because you’re full. Because if you move, the moment changes. Seokjin notices when you stop.
He glances at your bowl. “…Done already?”
You nod slightly. He leans back a little in his chair, studying you for a second like he’s trying to understand something you’re not saying.
Then he stands. “I’ll wash.”
You blink. “…You don’t have to.”
“Fine.” Same answer as always. He takes the bowls anyway.
Water runs in the sink a moment later, filling the apartment with a steady sound. You stay seated. Watching. Noticing how easily he moves inside your space now. Like it’s not something he entered yesterday. Like it’s already adjusting around him.
You stand only when the dishes are done. “…I need to buy trash bags,” you say, almost as an afterthought.
Seokjin turns slightly. “Now?”
You nod. A pause. Then he dries his hands on a towel.
It isn’t a question. You hesitate for half a second then nod again. “…Okay.”
Outside, the air is colder than you expect. The moment the door closes behind you, the warmth of the apartment disappears like it was never there. You pull your sleeves down slightly over your fingers. Seokjin walks beside you without saying much.
He catches your wrist as you pass, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your body reacts before your thoughts do. You pull back sharply. Too fast. Your wrist slips out of his hand, and you take a step back immediately, breathing slightly uneven without meaning to.
Everything pauses for a second too long. Seokjin doesn’t move.
He looks at his hand briefly, then at you.
“Oh.” A short sound. Not surprised enough to be shocked. “…Sorry,” he says right after. “Habit.”
You press your lips together. Your hand stays near your wrist even after he lets go, like your body hasn’t fully decided it’s safe yet. “We’re not close enough for that,” you say quietly.
It comes out more controlled than you feel. Jin blinks once.
Then lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah. Fair.” Like nothing happened at all.
A voice cuts in from the hallway before you can say anything else. “Oh? ___?”
You freeze instantly. Your body shifts slightly away from Seokjin without you meaning to. A neighbor stands near the doorway, just coming back from outside.
Her eyes move between you then land on Seokjin. “Oh, and who is this?”
Your chest tightens. Jin opens his mouth “I’m—”
“He’s my cousin.” It comes out immediately. Your hand reaches for his sleeve without thinking, gripping it like a warning and a request at the same time.
Seokjin stops mid-word. Looks at you. One beat. Two. Then “…Ah.” A small nod. Like he understands the shape of what you’re doing. “Yeah,” he says easily. “Cousin.”
The neighbor smiles. “Oh, visiting?”
“Yes,” you answer quickly. “He’s staying for a while.” Your grip on his sleeve tightens slightly as you continue. “My mom asked him to help out. She’s busy with work lately, so…” You force a small laugh. “She worries a lot.”
The words come out smoother than you expect. Too practiced. Seokjin says nothing. That’s what makes your stomach tighten. Because he’s not correcting you. Not adding anything. Just standing there.
Watching. And somehow, that silence feels heavier than any interruption would have been.
Seokjin suddenly moves. His hand lifts. Lightly. He places it on your head. You freeze. His palm is warm. Not pressing. Just resting there like it belongs.
“This kid,” he says casually, patting your head once. “She’s really good.”
He glances down at you briefly. “I’m the one she’s taking care of.”
Then he smiles toward the neighbor. “I’m glad she has kind people around her.”
The neighbor laughs softly. “Oh, how nice.”
Seokjin is already sitting on the low step outside the store. One leg bent, the other stretched loosely forward. A cigarette between his fingers, lit but not hurried. Smoke curls upward slowly, breaking apart into the air like it has nowhere to stay.
He exhales once. Slow. Unbothered. You pause for half a second before stepping closer.
“Thanks,” he says, easy and unbothered, cigarette resting loosely between his fingers as he leans back against the step. “For buying the cigarettes too.”
You don’t look at him when you answer. “It’s fine.”
Your voice comes out flat too controlled, like you’re holding it together by force rather than choice. The plastic bag shifts slightly in your hand. It crinkles too loudly in the quiet. Inside your chest, the conversation from earlier still hasn’t settled.
The neighbor’s smile. Your voice saying cousin. Seokjin’s silence right after. It keeps looping soft, humiliating, inescapable. Like something stuck under your skin.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” you murmur after a moment.
It’s quieter this time. Almost swallowed by the wind. You turn your back slightly without meaning to. Not fully leaving him just… not facing him.
Because your eyes sting again, and you don’t want him to see it. Not this. Not you like this.
“___.” Your name leaves his mouth softly.
Not loud. Not questioning. Just there. The cigarette pauses halfway to his lips.
“…Are you uncomfortable?” you ask, still not turning around. Your voice tightens at the end, like it hurts to push the words out. A short sound of confusion slips from him.
“Because…” You swallow. “Because Jin-ssi already knew I was lying.”
The sentence lands wrong the moment you say it. Too honest. Too exposed. Your fingers curl harder around the plastic bag. A beat passes. Then Seokjin laughs lightly. Like you said something strangely harmless.
“Ah. That?” He exhales, shoulders loosening as he leans back again. “I’m not uncomfortable.” He takes a drag from the cigarette. The ember flares, then dims. “I’m not really in a position to judge anyone, you know.”
That line doesn't land the way it should. It doesn’t comfort you. It does the opposite. Because something inside you shifts, small and sharp, like a thread pulling too tight. Your breathing stutters. You try to hold it in.
A sound breaks out of you small, fractured. And then again. Your shoulders shake before you can stop them. “Don’t…” Your voice cracks immediately. You press your sleeve hard against your eyes. “Don’t say things like that…”
You still don’t turn around. The tears come faster now, not clean anymore messy, humiliating, warm against your skin in the cold air. Behind you, Seokjin doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt. Just watches. You can feel it anyway. His silence has weight.
“I just…” you try again, but your voice collapses halfway through. You inhale sharply. “I don’t want people thinking I’m some pitiful kid.” The words spill out after that, like something breaking open.
“I have to hide it everywhere,” you say, laughing weakly through your breath, even though nothing is funny. “School, home, everywhere…” Your hand trembles as it wipes your face again.
“I keep acting normal like some crazy person.” A pause. Your throat tightens. “I’m just a liar.” Another breath. It shakes. “A pathetic… disgusting liar.” The words hang there. Too raw to take back.
The cigarette burns quietly behind you. Then “…Is that so?” His voice cuts in gently.
You pause. The sound of your own breathing suddenly feels too loud. Seokjin exhales slowly, smoke drifting sideways in the wind. “I think you’re kind.”
That stops you. Completely. Your hands freeze mid-motion.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just takes another slow drag, gaze lowered slightly not at you like before, but somewhere between you and the ground, like he’s choosing words carefully without making it obvious.
“You don’t want people thinking badly of your mom, right?”
The air changes. Not loud. Just tighter. For a second, you forget how to breathe properly. The wind feels colder than it was a moment ago, slipping under your sleeves like it knows where to find you.
Seokjin continues, calm as ever. “You really love your mom that much.”
Something in your chest pulls. Not comfort. Not relief. Something more complicated, something that doesn’t know where to go. You finally turn around. Slowly. Seokjin is still sitting there on the step, cigarette between his fingers, expression quieter now. Less playful than before.
Like he’s not looking at what you say but why you say it.
“…Does that just make me look stupid?” you ask quietly. Your voice feels smaller now. Less defensive. More tired. “Protecting someone like that.”
Silence again. The store light hums faintly behind you both, spilling across the pavement in a pale rectangle. Smoke drifts through it in thin threads, breaking apart before it reaches anything solid.
Then you lower your gaze. “…Sorry.” A pause. Your grip tightens on the plastic bag. “I’ll go back first.” You don’t wait for an answer. You just stand there for a second too long then turn slightly, like your body is deciding to leave before your mind fully agrees.
Your breath hasn’t even settled yet when you hear his shoes shift on the stone behind you. Soft. Unhurried. But deliberate enough that she knows immediately he’s not letting her walk away alone.
Soft. Unhurried. But close enough that your body reacts before your mind does. Warm fingers close around your wrist again.
You flinch anyway. “…Seokjin-ssi.” Your voice cracks as it slips out.
You’re still turned away from him. Your face is wet, the cold air pressing into your skin and making every tear feel sharper than it should. Like the night is making sure you feel everything fully.
“Let’s go back together,” he says. It just exists there, calm and unchanging, like your movement doesn’t affect his decision to stay.
“…I can go by myself,” you say quietly, trying to pull your wrist back. It doesn’t work.
Not because he’s forcing you. But because he isn’t moving at all. Like your resistance doesn’t register as something that changes the situation. He shifts slightly instead. Not closer. Not farther. Just adjusting, like he’s watching how you react more than he’s reacting himself.
Then he smiles. Of course he does. Like nothing about you just falling apart changed the temperature of the world around him.
“Then go back together by yourself,” he says lightly.
Your head turns immediately. Too fast. Your vision is still blurred, but you see him clearly enough. He’s looking at you. Not intensely. Not sharply.
Just… present. Like he’s not trying to win anything from you. Just waiting.
“…I told you,” you say, voice trembling, “don’t hold my hand.”
It should sound firm. It doesn’t. It comes out thin. Exposed. He exhales softly through his nose. Almost a laugh. Not mocking. Not dismissive. Just mild. Like the rule you’re trying to set doesn’t carry the same weight for him that it does for you.
“Mm.” That’s all he says.
But he still doesn’t let go. Your chest tightens. Your fingers twitch in his hold, like you’re about to pull away again, but the motion stops halfway. Then his hand shifts. Not tighter. Not looser. Just repositioning. His fingers slide so he isn’t really holding your wrist anymore.
Now it’s just your fingertips. Bare contact. So light it almost feels like you could deny it’s happening. Almost. “You really don’t like it,” he says casually.
Like he’s commenting on something simple. Then, after a pause, “Then I won’t hold it.”
He loosens further. But he doesn’t disappear. His fingers stay against yours. Just enough to exist. Just enough that you still feel him there when you breathe.
You still go. The silence stretches between you. Cold air moves through the empty street. The convenience store light flickers behind you, spilling across the pavement in soft, uneven shapes.
Then he starts walking. Still beside you. “Let’s go,” he says.
Not checking if you follow. Not pulling you. Just moving. And somehow you do follow.
Notes: Lastly, I’d like to say that English is not my first language. I’m not very fluent yet, but I’m doing my best to learn and use it.
Thank you for your understanding.
